


Little Steps

by LadyMeg



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Post-The X-Files: I Want To Believe (2008), Pre-X-Files Revival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 15:23:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9554888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMeg/pseuds/LadyMeg
Summary: It's been seven months since Mulder watched Scully leaving the unremarkable house and twenty-five minutes since he last  heard her say his name. Heading to her new apartment, he's unsure how this is going to go. He's not entirely sure he deserves it to go well.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first txf fic I have ever written and the first fic I have written in a number of years. I hope you all enjoy it, and feedback is incredibly welcome - I'd love to know your thoughts. 
> 
> I'd also like to say thank you to all the simply incredible TXF writers who I have been obsessively reading over the last couple of months. I didn't think there was anything that could get me back into writing ff, especially in my last year of uni as work is piling up, but you guys are absolutely amazing. 
> 
> Thanks.

He comes to her in the dead of night and the thought prods at the back of his mind that this never used to be something to be anxious about.

In the early days, Mulder had never really worried if Scully would be happy to see him. His wild and reckless young mind had never entertained the idea that she wouldn’t let him in, be perfectly willing to hear his next mad-cap idea.

And then, as the years passed, Mulder has always known that Scully may sigh and roll her eyes, say “ _Mulder, it’s late_ ” in that exhausted way of hers, but the smile at the edge of those lips would say otherwise and he’d slip past her into her living room and down onto her sofa before she could change her mind. (He knew that she wouldn’t.)

And then when they had first moved into the unremarkable house and he stayed up late rustling through newspapers and clicking through the internet, he would make his way up to their bedroom.  She would turn over in bed and give him that small Scully smile before shifting over and sighing softly as his arm wrapped around her waist. Her grumbles about his cold hands on her stomach were always half hearted and hushed by a kiss to her neck.

But now.

Now, as he stands outside the door to the flat he has never been in, he pauses and takes a deep breath, uncertain as to why exactly she has asked him to come. It had been seven months since he had last seen Scully, the bag in her hand being thrown into the back of her car. He’d watched her from the porch, one shoulder leant against the wooden pillar and his arms folded across him, dispassionate. Before she got into the driver’s seat, she paused and turned to him as if she were about to say something but the cold silence remained between them, unwarmed by the fall sun. He’d wondered then if she knew he also wanted to speak, say something, _anything_ , to make her stop, come back inside, forget the hurt he had caused her, but he didn’t believe he knew what those words were anymore. (He knew he would have at one point.)

It had taken him weeks for the full impact of a Scully’less home to hit him. He’d thrown himself back into his missionless work and decided the distraction was needed more than ever. At first, he thought she’d come back. She’d told him she would leave before, she’d even done it once - or was that twice? - but she’d come back not long after with dark, angry eyes. The door of his office had opened and he’d glanced up to see her looking gaunt and pale.

“You bastard,’ she’d spat at him, her voice sad and bitter, the obscenity sounding foreign on her tongue. “You make it so damn hard to leave.” He thinks he had smiled gently at her, but he’s not quite sure. He thinks he may have taken a slow sip of whiskey before turning back to his computer, but he can’t be sure of that either. Her makeup bag had reappeared in the bathroom but her shifts at the hospital seemed to become longer and longer. She prepared food for them still but no longer tried to battle with him to get him to eat, instead would leave a plate for him in the oven for when he realised his stomach was groaned too loudly.

So he’d thought she’d surely come back, given enough time. They’d been through too much for them to be beaten now. It hadn’t been until what seemed to be a promising lead appeared in his inbox that reality finally hit.

“ _Scully!_ ”

His voice echoed around the house but nothing came back. Not the shuffling of her feet as she changed out of her hospital clothes. Not her soft, off-key humming as she fixed the day’s second pot of coffee. Not a sad sigh from the living room at being hailed for another wild-goose chase.

Nothing.

The thick atmosphere soaked up his call and the lack of response reverberated through Mulder to his core.

She… she was gone. She’s said he made it hard to leave. She never said it was impossible. Nothing was impossible to his wonderful Scully when she put her mind to it. When her hand was forced.

-x-x-x-

He’d logged off his computer that evening for the first time since he could remember. Instead, he had wrapped his hand around the bottle of whiskey and the glass, which was sometimes used and sometimes wasn’t, and moved to the living room. There, he had proceeded to drink the damned silence of that wretched house away until he could no longer hear the distinctive lack of Scully which was persistently screaming at him.

He wasn’t sure how long it took him to fully accept his own actions had driven away the one constant in his life - he’s not sure he even really has - but he started to try. He started to care.

-x-x-x-

The next days and weeks passed in good and bad days; nights watching documentaries and eating homemade meals followed by days slouched on the sofa with a fresh bottle blending into nights calling her phone and hanging up just one or two seconds after the piercing beep sounded. He dreaded to think how many missed calls she had from her old partner, but he was both strangely thankful she didn’t pick up and glad she knew he was missing her.

She’d understand he was missing her, right? (He didn’t know anymore).

Gradually, the days he washed and shaved began to outweigh the ones in which he would sit on his computer, the number of bottles in the recycling decreased. He _started_ recycling again.

When his mobile rang seven months AS - After Scully - he was en route to bed. He had been forcing early nights upon himself and although he tossed and turned for hours, he’d been told by his newly acquired therapist it will work eventually.

“Mulder” he answered, the word feeling more like a truth than it had in awhile.

“Mulder. Hi.” she breathed and his chest suddenly felt infinitely tighter at the sound of his name from her. Stunned, he heard an automatic response fall from his lips.

“How are you?” he asked, the question sounding forced even to his own ears. This wasn’t how they spoke. He reminded himself they _didn’t_ speak anymore.

“I’m…I’m okay.” Before he could ask her if she was telling the truth or not, she continued. “I heard you’re doing odd jobs for the neighbours.” It was more a statement than a question and he smiled. He’d wondered if Scully had kept an ear to the ground when it came to him, watching from afar. He’d given up on the idea, but he had clearly been wrong. She was always one step ahead of him.

“Yeah. If you can call them neighbours. I spend longer travelling than fixing things” She let out a small huff of laughter at his attempt at a joke. It was one of the things they had loved about the house when they had been to see it, the distance from anyone else, out in the middle of nowhere with nobody peering over fences or asking questions.  

“I’ve started therapy" he told her, suddenly unable to fight the urge to tell her anymore. He’d been wanting to share the news with her since the second he had booked his first session but she’d been so out of reach. He had hoped it would make her proud.

Silence filled the line.

“I’m glad, Mulder. I’m really glad” she said quietly.

“Yeah, well you know…” He was unsure what to say and it was obvious she was also at a loss for words.

“Listen, Mulder. I don’t want you to feel obligated, but… would you like to come round?” Mulder was taken aback at her words and her hesitant voice indicated she was also unsure this was a good idea. Seeing Scully again was something he had been pretty sure he would never be able to do and the realisation had forced him to at least try and get his act together. But the thought of seeing her again, her standing right in front of him… it was something he had fought daily to accept wouldn’t happen, no matter how hard that may have been.

“I was just heading to bed” he said dumbly and heard her let out a small breath. He could almost see her; arm wrapped around her waist, phone pressed to her ear, chewing lightly on the corner of her pinky finger nail, eyes closed and instantly regretting her question.

“Oh” was all she said. Another silence descended.

“I’ll come over, Scully -”

“Don’t worry about it, it’s fine”

“No,” he paused, “no I want to. Can you text me your address or something?”

“Sure. So...See you soon”.

-x-x-x-

As he held his hand up to knock, he wondered what it was that had caused her to call tonight of all nights. Why after months of nothing, did she feel the urge to ring him now? Before he could ponder on the question, the door swung open and Scully was looking up at him. Her hand dropped immediately from the door and came down to nervously pick at the hem of her jumper. She was dressed casually, grey cosy knitted jumper, jeans and grey woolen socks which, judging by how big they were on her, had once belonged to him.

“Hi” she smiled softly.

“Hi.” She simultaneously cleared her throat, tucked her long hair behind one ear and stood back, gesturing for him to come in. Stepping into what was Scully 2.0’s apartment (Scully 4.0? 5? How many times had she had to rebuild herself because of him?) he glanced around, noting the pieces of herself she had taken with her. The medical book she always had her nose in. The laptop she would spend hours on mind-numbing websites on and then completely deny all knowledge of. The photo of the pair of them taken a couple of years previously when they had first bought the unremarkable house, a selfie of them both on the porch he had watched her leave from. _(_ “ _Selfies won’t last, Mulder. They’re ridiculous.” “I know, but we will. And we’re ridiculous too”._ Little did he know _)._

The place was small but bright, with touches of Scully throughout, but nothing which really said it was her home. He had hoped she would have somewhere which felt distinctly hers, somewhere which said she was okay here, she had made it her own. That she liked being _just_ Scully, no _Mulder’n’_ preceding her name. But that wasn’t what he read from the apartment he entered and he wasn’t entirely sure the tiny woman in front of him gave that message either.

“You look, umm...good” he told her, unsure if the compliment was wildly inappropriate. Scully let out a humourless laugh and shook her head slightly, pulling once more at her jumper self-consciously.  

“I’m not even sure I know what that means anymore”. Mulder took a small step closer towards her.

“It means just that, Scully. You… You look good” he said, more positively this time. And she did. She’d gained a little more of the weight he knew she had lost because of him and although her hair was bunched into a casual ponytail, she looked healthy. He didn’t realise how run-down she must have appeared the last time he had seen her as she drove away from him. He kicked himself hard for his godforsaken ignorance. Scully cleared her throat, slightly awkwardly.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d come” she confessed, ushering him over to the sofa in the centre of the room.

“Of course I did. I… to be honest, I never thought you’d ask me to.” He sat on one side of the sofa and she curled her foot underneath her on the opposite end, tracing tight little circles on her bent knee, her eyes focused on her actions instead of him. He recognised her nervous habits immediately.

“I didn’t think I would for a while, either,” she confessed, “but I can’t stop thinking about you, Mulder”.

“Scully, I -” she held one hand up to stop him and met his eyes.

“No, please. I need to say some things. I know you were sick, Mulder. I know your behaviour wasn’t completely under your control, but you gave up on us and that damn near killed me. I used to come before any of the secrets or the truths or the maybes, but you chose them over me.” He sighed, trying not to notice the tears she was stoically blinking away. “I left and I thought you’d try and stop me, I really did. But you just stood there looking like I was off for an afternoon shopping. Nonchalant. Nonplussed.” She laughed sadly at the memory and shook her head. He wondered if she knew she was slowly stabbing him in the gut with her words. He wondered how long it had taken him to realise he deserved it.

“I thought I’d never speak to you again and it absolutely killed me. I heard nothing from you for weeks, _nothing,_ and then I can’t tell you how relieved I was when you started drunk calling me.”

“How do you know I was drunk,” he interrupted but was instantly shot down by the withering look she fired him.

“Come on, Mulder. Weeks after I left and then endless calls every couple of nights. I was kind of glad though, to know you were at least alive, that you were at least thinking of me even if it was brought on by the bottom of a bottle”. She laughed bitterly before reaching over and taking his hands.

“But I’ve heard you’re doing well, Mulder. Really well. I don’t want to hamper your progress at all and I’m unsure if me being back in your life will do that” - she ignored the insistent shake of his head - “but… I miss you so much, Mulder.” She exhaled the last words in a rush as if knowing if she didn’t say them now, she never would. Her thumb stroked over the back of his knuckles lightly.

“I know I’m being selfish and if you’re not ready for me to be a presence in your life again, I understand and I want you to say so. But…” she trailed off, unsure what to say. Mulder smiled softly at the woman who had been across for him for so many years.

“I miss you, too,” he told her and the smile she gave him was pure _his_ Scully. “I’m trying, Scully. I can’t say there aren’t bad days, I still probably drink too much and there are days I can’t get off the sofa. But I’m really trying. The therapy is also working, I think. It’s helping. I’m taking little steps, little things at a time. Making sure I wash up the plates, go to bed at a reasonable hour, that kind of thing.” Scully smiled and glanced at the clock on the wall behind Mulder and smiled apologetically.

“So that’s why you were going to bed. I did wonder what happened to my night owl”. Her possessive choice of words didn’t pass either of them by but neither mentioned it, instead laughing gently in the quiet of the night.

“I don’t want to ruin your new routine, Mulder. I’m sorry. I should have called at a reasonable time.” He stood, sensing their night was coming to an end. It had been a short conversation, an unexpected one too, but one he never thought he would have with her and for that he was incredibly grateful.

“It’s fine, honestly. I’m not that great at the sleeping at a reasonable time yet, anyway. ” She smiled and followed him to the door, leaning against the frame as he turned in the hallway to say goodbye to her, unsure how their parting would end.

“So, little steps, huh?” she asked coyly, looking at him through her lashes. Mulder smiled at the shadow of a familiar conversation. There was a lot wrong with them, so much to be repaired that would take more than 20 minutes, blinked away tears and the soft feel of her thumb over his knuckles, but he’d take whatever he could get at this stage. It gave him something, for now, to hold onto.

“Little steps,” he confirmed. She hesitated.

“Is coffee next week some time a little step? Or is that a great lolloping step?” Mulder smiled down at her and thought about it for a second.

“Coffee sounds like a little step to me. I’ll text you?” she nodded and reached for the door.

“Great. Drive safe. And take care, Mulder” she said, her words loaded with hope. He nodded and turned away, throwing a hand up in a slightly awkward wave goodbye.

“I will.”

For the first time in a very, very long time, as Scully shut the door and breaths a sigh of relief, she believes him.

_fin._


End file.
